


Cast Adrift Amongst the Stars

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Queen (Band), Smile (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Reunions, Smile (Band) - Freeform, Typical Early 90s Queen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: When Tim gets the invitation to play with The Cross and Brian, he’s excited for a chance to reconnect with his old Smile friends. But when the evening doesn’t go quite as he expected it to, Tim is left wondering whether it’s even possible to revive a friendship after so many years apart.
Relationships: Brian May & Tim Staffell & Roger Taylor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Cast Adrift Amongst the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the Smile reunion in December 1992.
> 
> Artistic liberties were taken, particularly with combining the two shows that Tim played at into one and with how much contact Tim had with everyone prior to the Smile reunion. I know there’s more fiction than fact in the details of this, but I hope the fic still works as a decent “What-if?” exploration of how this could have gone down.
> 
> Title is from the Smile song, “Earth” and if you haven’t seen the video of the Smile reunion, you can find it on youtube!

When Tim had been asked if he wanted to join The Cross for a Christmas gig he had immediately said yes. Admittedly, his thoughts were more on seeing Roger and Brian again, and less on what it would be like to actually play with a proper rock band - but even if he had stopped to consider that, he’s not sure he would have ever expected to walk into a production quite to this scale. 

The crowd of roadies and technicians, personal assistants and caterers, is absolutely overwhelming. It’s not that Tim is completely removed from the music scene, but even when he plays the occasional gig it’s nothing serious - nothing like _this_. He sets up his own equipment and breaks it down when he’s done, and it’s not _exactly_ Imperial College in 1969 but it’s a damn sight closer to that than the operation being run tonight. 

“Tim, it’s fine, your bass will be in good hands, I promise,” Roger says with a laugh when Tim balks at handing over his bass to a tech. 

Tim doesn’t _not_ trust Roger’s crew, that isn’t the issue here at all. But what is he supposed to do with himself until the show starts, if he doesn’t have an instrument in his hands and there’s nothing for him to set up?

“Soundcheck?” he asks Roger, still keeping a tight grip on the handle of his guitar case. 

Roger cocks his head at that. “Taken care of already,” he says, like he’s not sure why Tim is worried about _that_ , of all things. It’s a strange tone to hear from the man who used to spend ages painstakingly tuning his drums himself before every show. “I mean, if you’re worried about it we can have someone run through things with you-”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Tim says quickly. The Cross clearly has a routine here, and Tim’s just a guest for a handful of songs. He doesn’t want to be a bother. 

“Alright,” Roger says. “C’mon. Let’s grab something to eat then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees - only because it would be rude not to, because food is the last thing on his mind right now - and he reluctantly hands his bass over to the waiting tech who quickly whisks it away. 

And now that he’s left with nothing to do but follow Roger, Tim does just that. 

The Marquee Club isn’t the largest venue but with the bustling activity everywhere there’s a creeping sense of claustrophobia settling over Tim as he sticks close to Roger’s side. If Roger feels cramped in the small hallways, though, he doesn’t show it. There’s a confidence to him that’s somehow different than it was when he was younger - more calculated, or maybe just more guarded. Roger was always bright and quick-witted, after all, and Tim would easily bet a tenner than despite his relaxed and almost uncaring demeanor Roger knows every detail of the ongoing show preparations. 

“Here,” Roger says as he pushes open a door with a sign reading _THE CROSS - HOSPITALITY_ taped to the front of it. Inside there’s a table laden down with sandwiches and snacks, enough to feed a small army… which, Tim reckons, is just about what The Cross is working with here. 

“Want a drink?” Roger asks him, and before Tim has a chance to answer he’s already grabbed two beers and is passing one over to him. 

Tim takes it, because at least it’ll give him something to hold onto now that he doesn’t have his bass. It’s not as grounding as having an instrument in his hands but it’ll have to do for now. 

“So how’re you doing these days, Tim?” Roger asks. He’s leaning against the table, a smile on his face, but the dark sunglasses on his face give him a sharpness that Tim isn’t used to seeing from his friend. 

Well. From his _former_ friend, really.

There’s no escaping the fact that it’s been far too long since they’ve seen each other - though if anyone’s at fault for that, it’s probably Tim. He kept in touch with them for a bit after leaving Smile but his music eventually took him away - to America, to Rome, and by the time he made it back to England for good Queen had taken off and he was in such dire financial straits that he couldn’t think of reaching out to Roger and Brian. He didn’t want his friends to think that he was only after their fame and fortune, not when the Doing Alright royalties were the only thing keeping his lights on half the time.

Tim’s in a better spot now though, and thank god for that, so he says, “Been alright, yeah. Can’t complain really.” 

He takes a drink and wonders for a moment if it’s safe to return the question. It would probably be impolite not to, he decides, so he asks, “And you? Doing alright?”

The phrasing had been unintentional but Roger’s smile softens a little at those familiar words and he says, “Yeah, you know. It’s been good, all things considered.”

_All things considered_. Surprisingly loaded words, despite how simple they are, and Tim knows that they must be hiding a world of pain and heartache behind them. Tim had watched the Tribute Concert, along with nearly a billion people, but he knows that the grief he felt at Freddie’s loss was nothing compared to what the rest of Queen must have felt when they stood alone on that stage that day.

And Tim does grieve Freddie, of course he does. He’s lost schoolmates before and he grieved them too, but there’s a sting to losing Freddie in particular that has yet to fully fade. It doesn’t matter that he hadn’t seen Freddie in years; it still _hurts_ to have lost him, so soon and in such a horrible way, and it hurts to know that Tim lost his chance to ever reconnect with him… but at least he’s reconnecting with Roger and Brian now.

“Anyway, I’ll be going back in the studio after the New Year,” Roger continues. “Figured it’s about time to start working on a new solo album, and it’ll give me a nice break from the Queen matters.”

There’s a lot there that Tim could respond to, and he takes another drink as he weighs what the safest approach might be. It used to be, once upon a time, that he could run his mouth at Roger and the drummer would laugh and keep the conversation stumbling along no matter what nonsense Tim said, but he’s all too aware of the distance between them now, carved out during the years that have passed since they last saw each other. Tim can’t trust that he can still be careless with his words and not hurt Roger in the process, and that’s something that he refuses to do.

“Always nice to work on your own material,” he says carefully. “Any plans for The Cross to go back into the studio?”

Something changes in Roger’s demeanor. He shifts, and takes a pointed swig of his beer, and says, “The Cross is on their way out. Don’t think we have another album in us, to be honest.”

Tim’s stomach sinks, and guilt over his misstep immediately settles in. “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Nah, don’t be. Hard to record when our keyboard player is about to tour in Brian’s new band anyway,” Roger says. He drains his drink and pushes away from the table, and grabs another two beers. “Want another?”

Tim glances down at the drink in his hands, and he’s surprised to find that he’s polished it off without realizing. He has to sing later so he should be careful of how much he drinks, but there’s a strange anxiety building in his chest - stagefright, maybe, though he suspects that that’s not exactly what it is - and he accepts the second drink from Roger to help take that edge off. 

“Thanks,” Tim says. Roger just nods in brief acknowledgement and when he doesn’t say anything Tim tries to cast around for any subject that he can to avoid the horrible silence.

“Speaking of Brian, where is he anyway?” he asks at last. He hasn’t seen the guitarist yet, but it can hardly be a Smile reunion without him. 

Roger snorts and says, “Oh, who fucking knows? He’s probably around somewhere.”

Tim feels more out of place and out of depth with every addition to this conversation. He knows that he’s had a very different life from Roger; one of them is a best-selling multi-millionaire musician, after all, and one of them gets to list model making for _Thomas the Tank Engine_ among the highlights of his career. Tim is proud of his own achievements, but there’s no denying how little they share in common and how little he knows about Roger these days.

The drummer feels more like a stranger than a friend to him. And maybe Tim should have been prepared for that, but he was so _happy_ to have a chance to reconnect that he didn’t stop to consider how much someone could change in twenty-odd years. 

There’s a knock on the door, the only warning Roger and Tim get before it’s opened and Brian pokes his head inside. “Speak of the devil,” Roger says. He’s smiling but it doesn’t entirely soften the sharpness of his tone. “Ears burning, were they?”

Brian ignores the comment as he walks in and instead says, “I was wondering where you two were hiding. We’re running out of time for a soundcheck, you know.”

“Already taken care of,” Roger says, and Tim can hear how fake that casual note in his voice is. “Relax, just because _you_ had a few bad shows down in South America that doesn’t mean the same will happen here.”

Tim doesn’t need to be in the loop to know how pointed that comment is, and he takes a large swig of his drink to his wince. 

Brian clenches his jaw and says, “Are you planning on doing a run-through of the set at all, Rog? Are we just winging this tonight?”

“The Cross knows the songs, and I’m sure Tim remembers them,” Roger says. “But if _you_ think you need a run-through…”

“I wouldn’t mind going over things at least once, if there’s time,” Tim interjects quickly, before this can turn any nastier than it somehow already is. “You know, just to make sure this rusty voice of mine is still up to the job.”

He laughs, a little self-deprecatingly, and both Roger and Brian look at him with far softer expressions than the ones they had given to each other. Any relief he feels at having some of their animosity fade away, though, is tempered by the certainty that they’d still be at each other’s throats if he wasn’t here to cut into their conversation. 

“I’m sure your voice is still as fine as ever,” Brian assures him warmly.

“And if you want to go over things, I suppose we can do that,” Roger says easily, despite having previously assured Tim that they didn’t need a soundcheck at all. Tim is certain that Roger is only agreeing with him now to rankle Brian even more, and that makes his stomach twist unpleasantly.

Roger is already finishing off his drink and heading out of the room, though, and he calls over his shoulder, “I’ll get the others and meet you on stage in ten!”

Brian scowls at the door as it closes behind Roger, and when a moment passes without him saying anything Tim clears his throat and asks, “Wanna share what that was all about?”

“What what was about?” Brian asks as he grabs a drink. He holds up another beer to Tim, raising an eyebrow in a silent question, and Tim really shouldn’t… but god help him, he thinks he needs it to get through the rest of the night. 

So he quickly drains the drink he already had and takes the new one from Brian, and as he pops it open he says, “I mean, whatever was going on with you and Roger just there. Seems like there was some tension, that’s all.”

Brian shrugs. “We had a bit of a spat a little while back but it’s nothing, really.”

It didn’t sound to Tim like it was “nothing”, but what does he know? Maybe this is just their norm now - snide comments and biting insinuations and pointedly relenting only when someone else gets involved. It’s an unpleasant thought, and Tim is grateful that the alcohol is taking the edge off the worst of his hurt as he tries not to dwell on that possibility.

“Anyway, how’re you doing these days?” Brian asks. “Everything going alright?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been bad,” Tim says, though mentally he adds, _If you don’t count this night so far._ “What about you? Seems like you haven’t aged a day since we last saw each other!”

That’s not entirely true, but Tim knows better than to comment on Brian’s hair (now no longer being brushed out in a frizzy mess) and his height ( _definitely_ taller than Tim remembers). This night has gone just poorly enough so far that Tim doesn’t want to test if Brian still hates having his attention drawn to those two features - just like he doesn’t want to point out the exhaustion in Brian’s eyes, and like he doesn’t have the heart to push for more information about what’s going on between Brian and Roger. 

Brian laughs a little and says, “Been alright, I suppose. Touring again for the new album, so that keeps me busy enough, at least.”

That sheds some light on Roger’s jab about bad shows in South America, and Tim files the information away with everything else he’s decided not to comment on this evening.

They head out for the soundcheck soon after that. Brian doesn’t say anything as they walk, and although he’s always been a quiet one - especially compared to Roger - it makes Tim uncomfortable now like it never did before. After how badly his conversation with Roger went, though, Tim doesn’t want to try making small talk again and he doesn’t try to break the silence. 

Their instruments are already waiting for them when they reach the stage. Tim happily takes his bass back from one of the roadies, and Brian’s tech hands his guitar over to him with as much care as someone might use when handling a precious treasure - which might not be far off from what that guitar actually is these days. 

Tim knows it has a name now, the “Red Special” or something like that, but Tim had seen it when it was newly built and just called “The Guitar” by everyone Brian played with. Its shiny, red finish had gleamed and Brian’s initials were emblazoned on the headstock so the whole world would know who built that beautiful instrument… but the initials are long gone now and even if Brian looks nearly unchanged the guitar has clearly seen better days, with its binding peeling and its finish scratched and wearing away. 

Brian used to be eager to show off his instrument to his friends, back in the day, and Tim still remembers the first time he held Brian’s guitar: how his hand ached afterwards from wrapping around the large neck and how Brian had laughed as he kept dropping the sixpence that he insisted on using, just to see if he could. 

Tim wonders if Brian still lets others mess around with his instrument, or if he refuses to let anyone else play it now that it’s absolutely priceless.

Roger lands a few quick hits on his drums and calls out, “Alright, it’s only two songs now so this shouldn’t take long.”

Tim quickly sets his drink out of the way and catches a glimpse of Brian rolling his eyes at Roger. But a moment later Brian is making his guitar sing with the first chords of “Earth”, and Roger joins in seamlessly, and then they’re all off. 

And for the first time that night, Tim feels like he can _breathe_ again. 

Tim knows his music. He may not be the best bass player or the strongest singer, and he knows that he doesn’t have the most captivating stage presence. But he _knows_ his songs, knows every beat and note with an absolute surety that never fails him. Life is too short to hold onto bitterness and he made his peace with the path his life ended up taking a long time ago, but there’s still no denying that stepping out on stage makes him feel _alive_ in a way that so few other things ever can. 

And playing with Brian and Roger again… it’s unbelievable. Their sound together has always been incredible, even back in the days of Smile, but after years of honing their skills Brian and Roger’s playing is better and tighter than it ever was before, and the little flourishes that they add in feel as natural as if they’d been written into the song from the start. And despite joking about his own voice earlier Tim nails every note, and when Brian and Roger join in they all sound stronger than they ever did when they were just three young kids with a dream.

There’s a huge grin on Tim’s face as the song draws to an end. They certainly don’t sound like it’s been over two decades since they last played together, and even if he has a few small tweaks that he’d like to suggest Tim is still the happiest that he’s been all night. 

He turns to Brian and Roger, expecting them to share his excitement - and instead he finds Brian already facing the drumkit with a scowl on his face. “You were going too fast!” he complains to Roger. 

“I was not!” Roger protests.

“You were! _Especially_ on the chorus!”

“It wasn’t-” Tim tries to interject, but Brian and Roger are already locked in a fierce argument and if they hear him they don’t acknowledge him. 

Tim is close enough to the keyboard player - Spike, he thinks, if he’s remembering his name correctly - that he can hear him sigh, and when Tim glances at him he says, with a wry grin, “Just give them a few minutes and they’ll wear each other out.”

Tim flicks his eyes back over to Brian and Roger. Their bickering is still going strong, but no one else in the room is really paying much attention to them. “This is normal for them, then?”

“Since I’ve known them, and I started working with Queen back in ‘84,” Spike says. 

“Jesus,” Tim mutters. He grabs his drink from where he set it earlier, only to find that one of the techs must have replaced it with a new one while they were playing. He hesitates for a moment; he knows his face is flushed and he’s starting to feel a bit unsteady on his feet, but his playing and singing are still fine so… 

He grabs the drink and takes a long swig. One more couldn’t really hurt, right?

“To be fair, they’ve gotten a bit worse since…” Spike’s voice trails off, but Tim knows what he’s getting at. Freddie’s death wasn’t just an upheaval for Queen; it also left scars on her remaining members, and as much as he hates this Tim knows that he needs to accept that Brian and Roger aren’t the same people that he knew before. 

“Anyway, weren’t they ever like this when you played together?” Spike asks. 

“Not quite.” The friendly bickering that Tim is used to seeing from them is nothing like the argument that he’s witnessing now. 

“Hey, Tim!” Roger calls out. “Settle this for us, would you? What’s the tempo of the song supposed to be?”

Tim isn’t sure that he wants to get roped into their mess, but it _is_ his song so he takes another drink and says, “Sorry, Brian, but Roger’s right on this one. The Smile version of “Earth” has always been a bit quicker.”

Roger gives Brian a smug smile, and Tim is quick to add, “But if we’re nitpicking the song, you do need to back off on your vocals a bit, Rog.”

There’s a momentary look of surprise on Roger’s face and Tim finds himself nervously holding his breath - but then the drummer laughs and says, “Alright, fair enough. It’s your song, so you know best.” He twirls one of his drumsticks between his fingers and asks, “One more try, then?”

“If you’re sure that we have time for it,” Brian says as he pointedly turns away from Roger. 

Tim takes another drink and pretends that he doesn’t see Spike’s sympathetic look as he sets his beer down on his piano - and as they dive back into “Earth” Tim pretends that he doesn’t feel as tipsy as he knows he really is. 

The song sounds even better the second time around than it did on the first try, and thankfully Brian and Roger don’t start up another argument when the song comes to an end. Tim steals a few seconds to finish off his drink, though he knows he shouldn’t, and then they’re off into “If I Were A Carpenter”, the second and final song of the brief Smile set. 

“Sounds good, I think,” Roger says when the song is over. “Brian, Tim, either of you need another run-through?”

“No, I’m all set,” Brian says. He’s already lifting his guitar strap over his head, and his tech hurries forward to take the instrument. 

“I’m all set too,” Tim says. Now that he’s not focused on running through the music he’s really feeling the alcohol starting to hit him, and he curses himself for having that last drink as he carefully starts making his way off the stage to hand over his bass to someone again. 

He’s more than a little unsteady on his feet, though, and Tim doesn’t notice the cable in his way until he trips on it. He stumbles and nearly falls over, but he’s caught by someone just in the nick of time. It’s Roger, and it’s a testament to just how _off_ Tim is that he somehow completely missed his friend climbing down from behind his drumset. 

“Woah, easy there, Staffell,” he says as he helps pull Tim back upright. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tim mumbles. He tries to brush Roger off, but now that the drummer is this close he’s already picked up on the tell-tale swaying and the alcohol on Tim’s breath. 

“Christ, are you _drunk_?” Roger asks, his grip on Tim tightening just a fraction. 

Tim shakes his head - and immediately groans when the room starts to spin around him. 

Roger swears under his breath and calls over his shoulder, “Hey, can someone come take his bass?”

A few people hurry over but it’s Brian who gets there first. He lifts the guitar strap over Tim’s head with so much care that it makes Tim’s breath hitch in his chest. Brian passes the instrument over to one of the techs before cradling Tim’s face in his hands and gently tilting his head back so he can study him carefully. 

“Had a few too many, did you?” Brian teases, but despite his light tone there’s genuine worry in his eyes. 

“Oh, he definitely did,” Roger says, completely ignoring Tim’s attempts to reassure them that he’s really fine. “Obviously he can still play and sing, but…”

“But that won’t do us much good if his legs give out on stage,” Brian finishes for him. It’s the first time all night that Tim has seen even the slightest hint of genuine friendship between them, and he must be really drunk if that’s enough to get a lump forming in Tim’s throat. 

“There’s still some time before the show, and longer before either of you are needed,” Roger says, completely matter-of-fact, the comment not pointed or meant to hurt at all. “So we’ll go back to one of our dressing rooms, get him some coffee, and it’ll be fine.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Tim grumbles. 

Brian rolls his eyes fondly and finally gets go of him. “Sorry, but the decisions are made by those of us who are sober,” he teases, and to Roger he asks, “Who’s room are we going to?”

“Mine, I think. It’s closer.”

“Would be easier if you just didn’t have separate dressing rooms,” Tim says without thinking.

Roger snorts and adjusts his grip on Tim. “Believe me, you don’t want to see what we’re like when we’re forced to share the same space.”

“Can’t be worse than you are now,” Tim mutters, before he can stop himself. 

He regrets the words as soon as they’re said and he watches nervously as Brian and Roger exchange an unreadable glance. They don’t say anything, but Tim gets the impression that they don’t need words to understand each other completely. It makes his chest ache, to see these glimpses of the friendship that they have - that they _had_ \- that might still be there, hidden underneath whatever discord has been plaguing them for the entire evening so far. 

“What d’you mean?” Brian asks as he helps support Tim while Roger leads the way down the maze of back halls to his dressing room.

Tim tries not to lean on Brian more than he absolutely needs to. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “It’s nothing.”

Because it _is_ nothing - at least, as far as he’s concerned. Their problems aren’t his problems, not anymore, and it’s not his place to run his drunken mouth or worry about whatever bad blood may be between them these days. 

But he _does_ worry about them, even if he shouldn’t. He worried about them before tonight, when all he had was the tabloid rumors to fill the spaces that had grown between them, and he knows that he’s going to keep worrying about them after this when they part ways again and Tim is left alone for another two decades with the memories of their snide comments to each other lingering bitter in the back of his throat. 

The very thought of that makes Tim feel a little sick, and he closes his eyes with a tired sigh. 

“Hey, you’re alright, Tim,” Brian says gently, and when Tim cracks open his eyes again he can see Brian smiling crookedly down at him. “Believe me, this isn’t the first time we’ve had to sober someone up before a show.”

Tim swallows roughly, trying to push down the lump in his throat, but it barely seems to budge. “Still,” he says, and he doesn’t have any more words left than that. 

Tim is deposited onto the couch in Roger’s dressing room, while Roger ducks out with the promise to find him some coffee. Brian sinks down next to Tim with a small sigh, and even though there’s only a few inches between them the distance feels insurmountable. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Tim?” Brian asks after a few minutes. 

“‘course I am.”

“It’s just, well, you’re being quiet, and I don’t remember you ever being a quiet drunk before,” Brian continues, as if Tim hadn’t said anything at all. 

Tim hates that he’s genuinely surprised that Brian remembers that after all these years. “I’m fine,” Tim says. “Really, I’m-”

Before Tim can finish that sentence the door is thrown open and Roger comes barrelling in with a cup of coffee in hand. “Good news, I found coffee!” he says as he thrusts the cup into Tim’s hands. “Bad news, we lost track of time _badly_ and I’m needed out with the band. Are you two going to be alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll look after him,” Brian says, and they both ignore Tim’s frustrated sigh at that. “Go on, we’ll see you on stage in a bit.”

Roger nods and then he’s gone, leaving Brian and Tim alone again. 

Tim sips at the coffee. It tastes like shit but it gives him something to do as silence falls over the room. He hates that damn silence, hates how it’s uncomfortable in ways that it never used to be, but he doesn’t trust himself not to say something that he’ll regret. 

He isn’t surprised, though, when Brian tries to check on him again. “If something’s wrong… Well, you know you can tell us anything, Tim.”

That may have been true, once upon a time, but Tim knows that it isn’t anymore. 

“I’m fine,” he says again. “Really, I am, so if you have other things that you need to be doing…”

“I don’t,” Brian says. “And I don’t mind staying here with you.”

Tim swallows another mouthful of coffee and says, “Maybe I mind, though.” 

Brian stares at him in surprise. “Tim, what-?”

“Tonight’s been pretty shit,” Tim says bluntly. He’s too drunk and too tired of biting his tongue to keep pretending that everything is fine when it absolutely isn’t and Brian isn’t picking up on his hints to leave things alone. “So if you wanna leave and try to salvage some part of this evening, well, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“What are you talking about?” Brian asks with a small, unsure laugh. “I didn’t think things were going that badly.”

“Yes, well, they haven’t exactly been going great either.”

“So you got a little drunk. So what?” Brian says. “That’s hardly enough to ruin things-”

“I’m not talking about me getting drunk,” Tim interrupts, before reason can override his drunken lack of filter. “I’m talking about whatever’s gotten you and Roger at each other’s throats.”

There’s a confused pause before Brian asks, “What are you talking about? We aren’t mad at each other.”

Tim snorts. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

He regrets the bitter comment as soon as it leaves his lips, and the answering silence from Brian feels smothering. “Sorry,” Tim says. “It’s none of my business, I know.”

“It’s not that,” Brian says. “But, Tim, Roger and I _aren’t_ mad at each other. At least…” He frowns a little as he thinks that over. “At least I didn’t think we were.”

Tim sighs and decides, to hell with it. He tried being polite about this when he broached the subject with Brian earlier and that didn’t work. If being blunt is the only thing that will get Brian to talk about this, then maybe it’s time to take a different approach.

“Look, I know that I don’t know much about your lives these days and there’s plenty that’s happened that I’ll _never_ understand, but it’s hard to miss the way that you two have been taking potshots at each other all night,” Tim says and he doesn’t have it in him to soften his words. “If that’s your new normal, well, so be it. It’s just hard for me to come in here wanting to catch up with my two old friends to find that they aren’t really friendly themselves anymore.”

He sighs, and leans his head against the back of the couch. “I’m not a nostalgic man, Brian. You know- you _knew_ me. Always looking ahead, trying to live without regrets. But I can’t be like that tonight, not when you and Roger are like this. I keep wondering where it all went wrong, what we could’ve done different, and it’s just… It’s gotten under my skin, I suppose.”

When Brian doesn’t immediately answer Tim sighs again and adds, “I am sorry for getting drunk, though. That was kind of shitty of me.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, Tim,” Brian says. “About… Well, about a lot of things, I think. But I guess I’ll start with saying that I’m sorry if you think that Roger and I have been insufferable all night.” He sighs and shakes his head. “No, we _have_ been insufferable. I know we have, even if neither of us want to admit it.”

“You said you had a spat,” Tim says, and he risks a glance over at Brian. He’s staring down towards the floor, but even so Tim can see the miserable look on his face and Tim hates that he’s the reason that it’s there.

“We did,” Brian confirms. “Several fights, actually, if I’m being honest. I said some shit about The Cross, and he said some things about my new solo project... And then when I told him and John that I wasn’t ready to start sorting through the last of... of Freddie’s tapes-” He swallows roughly, but keeps explaining, “-well, we fought about that too. I guess we’re holding onto some resentment from all that, even if we want to pretend it’s behind us.” 

He shakes his head and looks back up at Tim, just catching his eye so Tim can’t look away as he says, “I am _so_ sorry that you got caught up in our mess tonight. That’s not how this was supposed to go.”

“How else was this supposed to go, if you two can’t have a single conversation without sniping at each other?” Tim asks. 

Brian flinches a little at the question and Tim feels his stomach twist with guilt. “Sorry.”

“No, you have every right to ask that question,” Brian says. “But I… I don’t think I know how to answer it. I guess we were hoping that this could just be like old times again, but maybe that was a stupid wish to have after all this time.”

Tim exhales slowly and says, “I think you might be right.”

Brian says nothing and Tim sips at his coffee, wishing despite himself that he had another beer (or better yet, a joint) to help take the lingering edge off. Or else if he only had his bass or some guitar to pluck at it instead to work off some of this nervous energy...

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to agree with me there,” Brian says after several long minutes have passed. 

Tim shrugs. “I wish I didn’t have to agree with you.”

“Yeah,” Brian says with a sigh. “I wish you didn’t too.”

They don’t say much else after that. Brian eventually gets another cup of coffee and some water for Tim, and he does feel himself slowly starting to sober up. Probably a good thing, considering he’ll have to get on stage soon enough, but he thinks he felt better when he was still a little drunk.

It isn’t long before they get the word to head to the stage, and even having his bass in his hands again can only do so much to help calm his nerves once he can actually hear the audience. At least it’s almost over now. Two songs, that’s it, and then Tim can forget that this entire night ever happened. 

Brian grabs Tim’s elbow just as Roger starts introducing them and when Tim looks back at him he says, “Don’t leave once you get offstage, please. Stay until Roger and I are done as well.”

In the background, Tim can hear Roger saying, “Way, way long ago… before Freddie…”

“Tim,” Brian says again, a little more urgently. “ _Please_.”

Tim doesn’t want to stay. He wants to duck out and head home before Brian and Roger leave the stage, before they’re subjected to awkward goodbyes and promises to keep in touch that Tim knows they won’t actually end up keeping. This night has already been shitty enough and it’s clear that they can’t rekindle the friendship they once shared, so why bother going through the motions?

But Brian is giving him a desperate look and isn’t letting go of him, so Tim finds himself agreeing, “Alright. Alright, okay. I’ll stay.”

Brian lets go of him with a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

“...and that man is here tonight!” Roger says, and that’s Tim’s cue to head out onstage. 

The crowd is already cheering loudly, even before Roger announces Brian and the guitarist walks out as well. It’s overwhelming, the response that they’re getting - that Tim is getting, that _Smile_ is getting, even after all these years, and Tim is torn between excitement and a fear that he’s not used to feeling before his own shows. 

Brian and Tim take a moment to double-check their instruments, and Brian gestures to him with a small smile to get the crowd cheering again. Tim ducks his head and turns away from the audience for a moment, embarrassed by this attention and afraid that he’s going to screw this up and disappoint the audience. 

But before Tim can let those fears consume him, Brian once again starts playing those opening chords to “Earth” and the Smile reunion has begun. 

Once they start playing, the two songs seem to pass by in a blur. Tim has no idea if they actually sound alright - between his lingering buzz and the crowd’s deafening cheers and the band around him, he’s almost disoriented by everything that’s happening. He plays almost on autopilot, hoping that they sound even a fraction as good as they did in the soundcheck… and then when the last chords of “If I Were A Carpenter” come to an end, the thunderous applause from the crowd says it all. 

They weren’t just _good_. Smile, for the first time in over 22 years, has absolutely brought down the house.

Tim grins, wild and bright, as he relishes the feeling of a successful show. He knows that he’s not cut out for the level of stardom that Brian and Roger have reached, but performing for an audience - especially one like this - is still exhilarating, even if there’s a part of him that’s also just relieved that it’s finally over. 

Brian is staying to play a few more songs with The Cross so Tim leaves the stage by himself. His bass is once again whisked away by a waiting tech; Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to not managing his own instrument, but now that the pre-show adrenaline is starting to fade he feels exhausted and it is nice to have one less thing to worry about right now.

He doesn’t want to get in the way of everyone working backstage, so rather than trying to watch the rest of the show from the wings Tim wanders away. He’s intending to just go back to Roger’s dressing room, but when he passes an exit out the back of the building he decides that some fresh air might do him some good, even if it is freezing outside. 

The shock of cold sobers Tim up more than any coffee ever could but he doesn’t head back inside, and instead settles down on the steps with a small shiver and casts his eyes up to the sky. He’s always had an amateur interest in astronomy and he used to love hearing Brian talk about his studies at uni. Back then, he used to think that Brian would end up being a professor at some prestigious university, which seems ridiculous now.

Then again, he used to think that he’d end up being a popular musician and that dream came to an end years ago. 

Just goes to show that there’s no way to predict the future. So many things have happened that Tim never wanted, that he had no way of ever anticipating, and he’s learned to live comfortably with most of his regrets - but after tonight, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be comfortable with the way he drifted apart from Brian and Roger. He never wanted that to happen and despite how well the Smile reunion was received by the audience, he wishes that he had never agreed to perform tonight at all, if only so he never had to learn how insurmountable the distance between them all has become. 

The concert is only a faint roar in the distance and it fades easily into the background noise of the city as Tim gets lost in his thoughts. He doesn’t notice when the show finally comes to an end, and he doesn’t hear his name being called out - at least, not until the door is thrown open and Roger says, “Fucking hell, Tim, we thought you’d run off on us!”

The two of them clamber down the stairs as Brian starts to say, “I _told_ you that he promised to stick around-”

“And I can’t go anywhere when your techs are holding my bass hostage anyway,” Tim cuts in, because he doesn’t have the patience to listen to them bicker again.

“Good,” Roger says as he hops off the steps, and Brian takes a seat next to Tim. “I don’t want you going anywhere until we have a chance to talk.”

There’s a note in Roger’s voice that makes Tim nervous, but he still asks, albeit a little warily, “What about?”

“I think you know what about.”

Tim glances away from him and Roger sighs and says, “Look, Brian told me that you think we secretly hate each other.”

“Well to be fair, I didn’t think there was anything _secret_ about it,” Tim mutters. 

Roger laughs at that and Tim looks back up to find him looking surprised by Tim’s jab, but smiling nonetheless. “D’you know, I think that’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that really sounds like _you_.”

Out of all the things Roger could have said, Tim wasn’t expecting that. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, you’ve been quiet tonight,” Roger says. “Polite, sure, but quiet. And a little closed-off.” Roger shrugs. “I’ve gotta admit, it’s made it hard to talk to you.”

Tim blinks at him. “It’s been hard to talk to _me_? Rog, it was _impossible_ to talk to you! Every time I asked you something, you just brought up your music-”

“Well what else was I supposed to talk about?” Roger asks, a hint of frustration now slipping through. “You just kept making small-talk about what was going in my life, and this is all I have to talk about! You’re the one who didn’t seem to want to talk about your job-”

“Right, yeah, because _that’s_ what you wanted to hear about,” Tim says sarcastically. “Me working a nine-to-five making models for the BBC to pay the bills. It’s not exciting stuff, believe me!”

“I don’t care if it’s not exciting!” Roger snaps. “I’m fucking _sick_ of exciting anyway! What’s it gotten me, anyway?”

“Several millions and worldwide fame, for one thing,” Brian mutters.

Roger turns on him. “Oh, you shut it-”

“Stop it!” Tim snaps. “Both of you, just fucking stop!”

He stands abruptly and Roger hurriedly stumbles back as Tim climbs off the steps, now so wound-up that he doesn’t think he could sit still if he tried. “ _This_ is what I was talking about! Who gives a fuck about what’s going on in my life, when you two can’t get through one conversation without turning it into a fight? What’s the fucking point of having a Smile reunion if the three of us can’t be in the same room without you two being at each other’s throats?”

Brian and Roger both have guilty looks on their faces, and this still isn’t any of Tim’s business but now that he’s started talking he figures he might as well go for broke. 

“Look, tonight was shit, even besides whatever is going on with you two,” he says bluntly. “The crowd might’ve liked the songs, but that’s not the music I play anymore and this sort of production - with all those techs and your entire road crew… Well, it’s not what I’m used to and I’m not sure I’m keen on doing all this again. So this was a nice little experiment, but I don’t think it’s worth repeating.” 

“No. Fuck that,” Roger snaps. 

Tim sighs in frustration. “Roger...”

“Fuck. That,” Roger repeats. “And fuck _you-”_ he says to Brian, “-for agreeing with him, and don’t try to tell me that you don’t because you already told me about that little conversation the two of you had while I was onstage!”

“Sometimes people just don’t stay friends,” Tim tells him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when the friend is _you!_ ” Roger snarls, dragging a hard through his hair in frustration. “You don’t get it, do you? Even after all these years, you still know me and Brian better than you think you do! You’re the only one who’s noticed that we’re still letting those stupid fucking arguments we had get between us, or at least you’re the only one with the balls to point it out to us! That counts for something here, Staffell, it _has_ to!”

“Maybe it doesn’t, though,” Tim says, but it’s missing the frustration that was coloring his tone earlier. 

“But maybe Roger’s right,” Brian says quietly. Tim looks at in him surprise - and Roger looks a little smug, and Brian rolls his eyes and says, “Don’t give me that look, Rog. All I’m saying is that… Sure, we’ve changed, but maybe we’re not completely unrecognizable yet, if you know what I mean? Maybe there’s still enough of a foundation here that we can move forward and try to build something up again.”

He shrugs and ducks his head and adds, a little unsure, “I mean, only if you want to.”

“I want to,” Roger says immediately, and then all eyes are on Tim, waiting for his response. 

He exhales slowly and says, “That’s what I wanted when I agreed to do this show, but if things are just going to be like this, maybe it’s better if we don’t.”

“Things _won’t_ be like this, though!” Roger insists hotly. 

“Like Roger said, I told him about our conversation earlier,” Brian says, much more level-headed than Roger is being at the moment. “And he was the one who pointed out that we had started using those fights as an excuse to take _all_ our frustrations from everything else that’s going on out on each other. It might take a bit of time to work things through, but we’re going to try - and we’re not going to let things get worse in the meantime.”

“And if you don’t want to do another Smile show, then that’s fine,” Roger adds. “Honestly, I’m just sorry that you didn’t say something about how uncomfortable you were earlier. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with the whole production tonight - all of that is normal for us, and I didn’t consider what it must look like to an out-” He winces, and corrects himself, “-to someone else.”

“You can say “outsider”. It’s true enough.” Tim says.

“Maybe,” Roger agrees. “But it’s a truth I’d like to change... If you wanna change it as well.”

It’s the same sentiment that Brian had just expressed, and the message from both of them is clear: They want to try to make this friendship work again, no matter how tonight has gone, no matter that their effort might all be pointless in the end. 

Tim may still have his share of misgivings, but he’d been hopeful at the beginning of the night and he tries to dredge up that hope again now. Even if they can’t erase the years that they’ve already spent apart, maybe it _is_ worth trying to salvage something here. 

“Yeah, alright,” Tim says at least. “Let’s give this a try.”

Roger and Brian both give him bright grins, happy and _familiar_ above all else, and Tim finds an answering smile spreading across his own face. It’s not 1969, and they’re not the same young boys who thought that they’d reach the stars together… but for the first time that night, Tim thinks he can see them moving forward together into something new. 

And maybe, for now, he can let that be enough. 


End file.
